


I'll be found in you, still standing

by alterocentrist



Series: We found love right where we are [5]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Museums, New Zealand, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterocentrist/pseuds/alterocentrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Carmilla rested her head on Laura’s shoulder, taking in the scent of her shampoo and shower gel under the fragrance of sun-warmth, which blanketed everything that had been outdoors long enough during a fine day. Vampires didn’t need to breathe, but in moments like these, she was grateful for the option. Laura smelled of comfort, of strength, of the things that she never thought she would ever have."</p><p>Carmilla and Laura spend some time in Auckland, New Zealand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be found in you, still standing

Carmilla sat in the departure lounge of Los Angeles International Airport, sipping coffee and reading a magazine. She steeled her nerves for the next twelve hours she would be spending in a cramped chair, thousands of metres over the vastest ocean on this planet.

She didn’t hate the idea of flying, but she hated airplanes. She hated how the walls were curved all over, not an edge in sight. She hated the smell of twice-purified oxygen. She hated that she had to put up with airplane food—apparently only second worst to hospital food—because there were bound to be a lot of issues if a bunch of random people disembarked with puncture marks on their necks. But most of all, she hated the idea of being in a metal tube suspended in air. It was just too precarious, and contrary to what pop culture has portrayed, many vampires actually did not enjoy living dangerously.

The voice from the loudspeaker reverberated from above: “Boarding for Air New Zealand flight 0005, from Los Angeles to Auckland, will be open in five minutes. Please make your way to Gate 50 with your passport and boarding pass at the ready.”

Laura returned from browsing the shops and placed her hand on Carmilla’s shoulder. Her thumb stroked along its contour. “Shall we?” She picked up Carmilla’s backpack from the floor with her other hand. “Need to go to the toilets or anything?”

Carmilla shook her head.

Laura instinctively shifted herself so her arm was draped around Carmilla’s shoulder. She let the vampire fall against her abdomen. They stayed like that for a minute or two. “By the way,” she said to Carmilla, “I found that candy you like that we couldn’t find in Calgary. Thought you might want some for the plane.”

“Thanks,” Carmilla said. Her voice was so quiet she wouldn’t be surprised if Laura didn’t hear her. But the smaller woman just held her tighter. Laura’s t-shirt, a fresh change from what she was wearing on the plane from Calgary, smelled exactly like their apartment back home. Carmilla closed her eyes and breathed it in.

“Baby, we should go,” Laura said.

They walked to their gate and boarded the plane. Laura did not let go of her hand until the plane climbed to a steady height. They talked about flying through the Los Angeles smog, pored over the selection of movies and TV shows, and indulged in the candy that Laura had bought. Two hours later, Laura fell asleep against the wall of the plane, away from Carmilla.

Carmilla spent the entire flight marathoning _Mad Men_ on her inflight entertainment system, too wired and too anxious to relax. During a period of turbulence—the pilots swore it was brief but it felt like forever to Carmilla—she reached out to squeeze Laura’s hand.

Laura, in her slumber, squeezed back.

* * *

The first thing Carmilla noticed when they stepped out of Auckland International Airport was that the sun cast a light different from what she had seen anywhere else. Everything around her was so vivid, the colours so saturated they seemed unreal. And the sun’s rays were so hot, that she saw that Laura’s skin was already beginning to turn pink from where it was exposed. Being even more prone to sunburn than a mortal, Carmilla slipped on a thin sweater and a wide-brimmed hat before stepping out of the shade to meet LaFontaine and Perry by their car.

The redheads had moved from Styria to New Zealand after LaFontaine received a grant to study various lifeforms in the Waitakere Ranges, west of Auckland. Six months later, they had a permanent position as a researcher at the local university. Perry, on the other hand, found a job as an archivist at the museum. They settled in their new home, their new country, and they seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.

Laura and LaFontaine had been discussing the possibility of a vacation with them for much of the previous year. Since moving back to Canada, Carmilla and Laura had not spent time away from work, so they put their heads together to figure out the budget, the itinerary, the timing. They were set on making it happen. Laura finished the project she was working on by December, then after New Year’s, they got on a plane to Calgary, then to Los Angeles, and now, Auckland. Two months of no work and all play awaited them.

After their luggage had been loaded, LaFontaine pulled Carmilla in for a hug and patted her on the back. “It’s so good to see you!” they said, as they all got into the car.

“Have you been to New Zealand before, Carmilla?” Perry asked.

Carmilla shook her head. “I’ve always wanted to, but I never had the chance.” _Because I was still under Mother’s thumb, and she preferred that I didn’t cross any oceans_ , was the unspoken continuation that everyone in the car knew and didn’t need to hear.

Thankfully, LaFontaine broke the ice. “I forgot to tell you that the sun here is super intense. I’ve got some SPF 30 here for Laura and 50 for you.” They reached inside the glove compartment and produced two bottles of sunscreen.

“Thanks.” Carmilla took the bottle, but felt far too disoriented to start applying it on herself.

The others must have noticed, because Perry was opening a small cooler by her feet, and then she was handed an opaque bottle of something that was ice cold. Laura helped her unscrew the cap, and that was when the smell hit her.

“O-negative, your favourite!” LaFontaine laughed, slapping the steering wheel.

Carmilla took a long swig from the bottle, suppressing a happy moan as the liquid flowed down her throat. She hadn’t had any blood in almost 48 hours. “You know vampires can’t tell blood types by taste, right?” She dabbed at her mouth with the heel of her hand. “But thank you.”

“Yeah, you weren’t looking too good there, Carm,” LaFontaine said. “Airline companies should really look at catering for their passengers who happen to be—what is it, Per?— _light-averse octogenarians with severe hemoglobin deficiencies_.”

“Octogenarian? I’ve been eighteen for almost four hundred years, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Perry hung her head.

Laura snorted.

“And vampires can teleport,” Carmilla reminded them. “I just wanted to share the adventure of a longhaul flight with cupcake here.” She smiled at Laura, and then she drank some more blood. It tasted so delicious that she had to thank the redheads again.

“Wow, that’s what I really missed, Karnstein,” LaFontaine jibed. “Your tendencies for gratitude and politeness.”

Laura’s hand travelled up Carmilla’s arm, her shoulder, before finally resting on the back of her neck, where she began to trace small circles with her fingertips. “I think she’s going a bit soft,” Laura told LaFontaine, before turning to Carmilla, her nose scrunched up affectionately. “Aren’t you, babe?”

Carmilla shrugged. Maybe she was.

* * *

LaFontaine and Perry’s house, located on a road that wound around the Waitakere Ranges, was made of dark recycled timber. There were solar panels on the roof, and a greenhouse and vegetable patch next to the house. As soon as LaFontaine turned off the car engine, Carmilla could hear chickens clucking.

They were led inside the house, which had three bedrooms, a large kitchen and a comfortable living area with sliding doors that opened out into a deck. Perry insisted that Carmilla and Laura sit on the couches while she got them glasses of cold juice. As soon as Carmilla sank back into the upholstery, the exhaustion hit her.

“This place is _so_ you, you guys,” Laura gushed. “I love it.”

“Why, thank you, Laura.” Perry sat next to them and handed them their drinks.

Suddenly, Carmilla could feel something creeping around her ankles. She yelped, then retracted her legs from the floor, folding them beneath her.

“Oh, that’s just Lizzie,” Perry said. She bent down and picked up a cat with fluffy brown hair. “We got her during the last SPCA adoption drive. Isn’t she adorable? Say hi, Lizzie.” She placed the cat on Laura’s lap.

“I’m surprised she’s not ginger,” Carmilla remarked.

“I totally went into the SPCA looking for a ginger cat.” LaFontaine had come in now, and took their place on the couch next to Perry. “But you know, the cat chooses you, not the other way around. And it was love at first sight with Lizzie.” They leaned over to scratch Lizzie behind the ears.

“You’ve come at the perfect time of the year,” Perry said. “You can have a couple of days to rest then we’ll go to the farmer’s market on Sunday then perhaps go strawberry picking afterwards? The days are so long and there’s just so much to do and see!”

“Yeah, we’d love that!” Laura said.

At the sound of Laura’s unfamiliar voice, Lizzie crawled off Laura’s lap into Carmilla’s. She burrowed her nose into Carmilla’s thigh.

“Look at that,” Laura said. “She likes you.”

Carmilla stroked the furry animal, and a sense of calm washed over her for the first time in two days. She listened to the conversation between Laura and the redheads, but her eyelids felt heavier and heavier. Sometime later, when she was closer to being asleep than being awake, she felt Laura’s hands—gentle but firm—guide her to lie on the couch, and then there was the weight coming off her lap as Lizzie jumped off.

“I don’t think she slept on all three flights,” she heard Laura say.

“Okay, while she’s resting, we should go show you the rest of our place,” LaFontaine said. “I think you’ll really enjoy our chickens. They’re _such_ characters.”

Carmilla felt a light blanket covering her. Laura’s lips were on her forehead, and then as the sound of footsteps faded away, she descended further into sleep.

* * *

New Zealand in the summertime was perfect, once Carmilla figured out how much sunscreen to slather on and how many layers of clothing to wear.

LaFontaine and Perry took them to the weekly farmer’s market, to strawberry picking, to the wild West Auckland beaches with their coal-black sand… but their unanimous favourite so far was hiking—the locals called it tramping— in the Waitakere Ranges. The temperature was always cool enough to be wearing a light jacket or a long-sleeved shirt, and the fecund bush provided more than enough shade from the harsh sun.

When the redheads went back to work after their mandated holidays, Carmilla and Laura packed lunches and explored new tracks. They talked, mostly, about what was going on back in Canada, about the vineyard that their hosts drove them to, and about their plans after they leave Auckland the following week to explore the rest of the country. And in their silence, they held hands and listened to the songs of unfamiliar birds.

* * *

They went to town and rode bikes along the waterfront and paid the exorbitant fee to get up on the viewing deck of the Sky Tower. They had burgers with juicy New Zealand beef for lunch and gelato with handmade fixings for dessert. And the next day, on Perry’s recommendation, they made the trip to her workplace, the Auckland War Memorial Museum.

Carmilla found herself getting lost in the first galleries, the ones that told the stories and displayed the cultural treasures of New Zealand’s indigenous Māori and its significant immigrant population from the South Pacific. It was the natural history galleries on the second floor that Carmilla noticed Laura being most fascinated by. They walked through the displays of dinosaurs, birds, and the creatures of the ocean, eventually ending up at the gallery for volcanoes and earthquakes.

The New Zealanders’ deep interest in the hostility of their landscape perturbed Carmilla. The galleries boasted of the volcanoes lying dormant underneath Auckland, and the multiple fault lines that run throughout the country, underneath cities. Forces ready to be agitated at any time.

Absentmindedly, they got in a queue to enter a house in the gallery. It was only when they were seated that Carmilla realised that they were in a simulator of some sort. About volcanoes. And it was way too late to leave.

Carmilla clutched at Laura’s arm when the lights flickered and the house shook. When it was over, Laura all but frog-marched her out of the house into a secluded corner by the marble staircase to the next floor.

“Oh my god, Carmilla, I’m sorry.” Laura took Carmilla into her arms. “I should have known.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Carmilla was shaking her head. Families and other tourists were walking past them, some of them shooting questioning glances their way, and she didn’t feel making nice with strangers. “It was just a little jarring, that’s all.” She nuzzled Laura’s neck. “Come on, let’s see the rest of this place so we can get some coffee.”

Laura kissed Carmilla on the cheek before releasing her from her embrace. She linked their arms together and made their way up the stairs, into a humbling sanctuary of stained glass and marble, on which the names of New Zealand’s fallen during the First World War were engraved. They browsed the war galleries with the appropriate reverence.

At the exhibit’s end, they walked out onto a solemn hallway with polished wooden floors, illuminated with the sunlight filtered through glass panels on the ceiling. On the marble walls were bronze inlays of the names of the fallen, this time from the Second World War.

 _The last great war of the modern world_ , Carmilla recalled saying this to Laura years ago.

An expanse of marble caught their attention at the end of the hallway, just before the entrance to the World War II exhibition. It was blank, except for a short inscription. “‘Let these panels never be filled,’” Laura read, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carmilla began to feel stinging behind her eyes. She automatically tried to blink the sensation away, but instead they filled with tears. She hastily dabbed at them with her sleeve.

“Carm? Hey.” Laura placed a comforting hand on the small of Carmilla’s back. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Carmilla choked out. She threw her arms around Laura’s neck. One of Laura’s arms wrapped across her back, and the other across her shoulders, hand stroking Carmilla’s hair. Carmilla rested her head on Laura’s shoulder, taking in the scent of her shampoo and shower gel under the fragrance of sun-warmth, which blanketed everything that had been outdoors long enough during a fine day. Vampires didn’t need to breathe, but in moments like these, she was grateful for the option. Laura smelled of comfort, of strength, of the things that she never thought she would ever have.

In their bed that night, Carmilla curled into Laura’s side while Laura was reading a book. She slid her hand under Laura’s tank top, relishing in the warm skin of her abdomen, to get her attention.

Laura put the book on the nightstand. “Hey there.” She placed her arm underneath Carmilla’s head to draw her in closer. “You feeling better?”

“You know, today I realised that New Zealand, in its iterations as a colony and as a sovereign nation-state, is much younger than I am?”

“Yeah?”

“And they managed to send troops to the Boer War, and both of the World Wars, and smaller wars after that,” Carmilla said. “They also took losses, too. Lots of them.”

“I know, babe. It’s awful.”

“There is just something I find so… I guess... _funny_ about it all, but not in the humourous way,” Carmilla said. Memories flashed in her mind. The explosion. The wrecked coffin lid. The overwhelming stench of rotting flesh. When she emerged from her decades-long internment, she stumbled on severed limbs and discarded prayer books. She put many out of their misery by drinking what was left of their blood. She indulged in a few dozen healthy soldiers too—those stupid enough to wander out of their trenches on quiet nights—regardless of what side they were on. She was too weak and too hungry to care.

“The Second World War freed me from my coffin,” she continued, “and here I am, close to a century later. I’m walking around these pristine memorials that commemorate the terrors these men faced. I’m reading proof of their mortality as engravings on marble. And I’m doing this as a _tourist_. On _vacation_. It’s unfair.”

“Well, you fought too,” Laura said, “you just fought a different one. Different wars, actually. But you survived.”

“Some days I don’t feel like I deserve to.”

Laura used a gentle finger to tilt Carmilla’s face upwards. “You are as flawed and as scarred as all those soldiers, or anyone else for that matter,” she told her. “And you deserve love and life as much as anyone else, too. Please don’t forget that.”

Carmilla sighed into Laura’s hand. “Not when you’re here to remind me, cupcake.”

* * *

“I think I may have found a story here.” Laura’s voice was tentative.

After weeks of travelling from one end of New Zealand to the other, they were back in LaFontaine and Perry’s guest bedroom with two weeks left to spend in Auckland. They lay in bed, Carmilla pressed up against Laura’s back, their bodies moulding to each other’s shape.

“Really,” Carmilla said.

“I was thinking about doing it on how people here adapt their lifestyle to the geography and the climate and how that influences their culture.”

“I noticed that, too,” Carmilla said. “Nice one, buttercup.”

“ _Hey_.” Carmilla could hear the pout in her voice. “I’m a trained journalist. And I’m from Manitoba, I know what it’s like to love and to be scared of living in a place, usually at the same time. I want other people to see it, too. And I think this is the perfect place. It’s a small country, with diverse geography and a small population who have built their lives around it.” A beat. “But you know, only if you’re okay with staying here.”

Carmilla snorted into Laura’s hair. “Do I look like I’m in a hurry to get back to Winnipeg anytime soon? Everything there is probably still buried in snow.”

“ _Seriously_ , Carm,” Laura said. “If I’m gonna go for it, I need to stay here for another six months, at least.”

“You know I can’t stand to be away from you, cupcake.”

Laura turned her head slightly, and Carmilla knew there was an attempt at a glare. “Carm,” she said. “You know that I don’t like being without you either. That’s why I want to know if you genuinely want to stay here. Otherwise, there are other stories somewhere else.”

Carmilla moved her hand so it was resting on Laura’s heart. She could feel the steady beat there, under the woman’s shirt and layers of skin. “I want to stay here because I want you to tell this story, and I want to stay here because of you,” she told her. “No place in this world could be home without you.”

They told the redheads of their plan the next morning. Perry volunteered to help them with applications for working permits. LaFontaine, in their typical fashion, immediately planned a “good, ol’-fashioned kiwi barbecue, but with _lots_ of Type O,” to celebrate.

* * *

In the last three months, Carmilla transformed from overworked yuppie, to tourist, to temporary expatriate. She was doing the things people “her age” were known to do. It was weird, but it was precisely that which made her feel almost normal.

Of course, it wasn’t long before she was reminded that she wasn’t.  The sound of crashing waves overwhelmed her, so she never went near one during their trip, insisting that she was content with viewing Laura’s photographs. They had to bypass Christchurch completely because of her anxiety over the potential of an earthquake happening when they were there. She refused Laura’s suggestion to ride the cable car to the Wellington Botanic Gardens, preferring to walk—up an extremely steep incline—instead. She made it up to her girlfriend with a hot bath and a foot massage when they returned to their hotel.

These were just some of the little things she found herself unable to handle since that day in the museum. It shouldn’t be old news by now; just when she thought she was doing well, something had to undo it.

“I’m sorry.”

After their work permits were approved, they rented a townhouse closer to shopping centres and suburbia than LaFontaine and Perry’s mountainside home. It remained sparsely furnished, but even Carmilla could admit that they were making a good home out of it. But the approaching winter meant that the days were getting shorter in New Zealand, which meant that the townhouse often got too dark for Carmilla’s liking. It didn’t help that the train station was nearby, the dawn freight trains often jolting her awake.

“Baby, please don’t apologise.” Laura was kneeling on the floor of their bedroom to plug a night light in.

Carmilla wrung her hands as she watched helplessly from their bed. “I feel like an infant,” she said. “I’m supposed to be a badass vampire, remember? I shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.”

“But you are, and that’s okay.” Laura sidled into bed next to Carmilla and placed a hand on her thigh. “Our fears should be part of the things that remind us that we’re human beings.”

“Are you going to go all philosopher over this?”

Laura chuckled. “You’re the one with a masters degree in philosophy, not me,” she said. “Besides, it’s not philosophical. It’s not even a hard thing to get your head around. Like, I don’t know if it’s just me, but sometimes I get carried away in stuff, and being reminded that I actually feel fear keeps me grounded.”

“That is true.” Carmilla smiled at Laura as they both internally reminisced her stubborn attitude that bordered on recklessness. “You’d get far, far away from me if you ever forgot your fear of having no one to get objects off of the top shelf for you.”

“Hey, you’re not that much taller than me!” Laura protested. “I’m just saying though, it’s okay to be afraid. Even for badass, centuries-old vampires such as yourself.”

“You were afraid of me once,” Carmilla said simply.

“Yes,” was Laura’s even response. “But once I knew you, like, really got to know you, I stopped being afraid. It’s not that because it didn’t matter, or because I forgot what you were. It’s because you genuinely let me in, and that’s how I knew that I could trust you, that you wouldn’t hurt me…” She took Carmilla’s hand in hers. “It’s because you may be a vampire, but back then, you were scared too, like I was.”

It was a simple—and an admittedly trite—statement, but Carmilla wanted to believe in it. Perhaps Laura was right; she needed to look at it another way. The way the past haunted her served as a reminder that she was capable of being more than the monster she was created to be. Fighting alongside Laura, alongside LaFontaine and Perry, and hell, alongside Danny, exposed so much of what she tried to hide. And if she was being honest, it was the first time in a long time that she felt like she may as well be alive.

* * *

She got a job as a guide at the Auckland Art Gallery because it was quiet for most of the day, and the exhibits were displayed in airy, high-ceilinged spaces, so she could stay indoors the without feeling suffocated. Also, if she had to choose what she was most happiest about in her centuries on this earth (second to Laura, of course), it was watching mortals fawn over paintings and music and theatre and literature the way she did back then, when she wouldn’t have guessed that they would be treasured for decades—sometimes even centuries—to come.

Despite being small, and admittedly limited in range compared to the other galleries around the world, Carmilla was having infinitely more fun in this job than she did at her old one in a Winnipeg bank. She was eager to answer questions from young children, willing to discuss artistic techniques with university students, and swapped stories with middle-aged women, as if she was telling them what she read from a book, rather than recounting her own experiences.

Eventually, Carmilla’s employers noticed her talent and expertise, and promoted her to be an educator on their Learning Programmes team. Her casual conversations with visitors were replaced with talking to school groups and writing information pamphlets. But still being able to see the wonder on people’s faces, not to mention having a job that meant regularly meeting the country’s best art history scholars, more than made up for that.

Laura, on the other hand, tirelessly researched and conducted interview for her new project. Carmilla saw her significantly less than when they were on vacation, but they established a routine. Five days a week, they would go into the city together. Laura would walk her to work before heading off to wherever she needed to be. After the gallery closed for the day, Carmilla would meet Laura at the transport station, usually with coffee or baked goods. They would get on the next train home, Laura’s head on Carmilla’s shoulder, their fingers linked.

For five days a week, they sat in a cramped train carriage, surrounded by strangers - men wearing polyester suits, university students with oversized backpacks, and loud kids in Catholic school uniforms. But for Carmilla, the rest of the world never failed to fade away when Laura, breath warm against her ear, would say: “I really missed you today, babe.”

* * *

Winter’s rage befell on Auckland with unceremonious zeal. A fortnight of rain in mid–June practically erased Carmilla’s memories of the long, dry summer she landed in. By the beginning of July, she ached for the humidity, the sharp burn of the sun’s rays on her skin, even through her clothes, the 9PM sunsets, and how she and Laura always smelt of sweat and sunscreen at the end of the day.

The weather was not only miserable, but it was frightening. This was a change; winter had always been Carmilla’s favourite season. She had spent it in Vienna, in Paris, in Reykjavik, and countless other cities in her centuries. She had been stranded in snowstorms and had huddled up by fireplaces while the sky darkened at three in the afternoon. The Auckland winter was extremely mild by comparison. But it compensated by being intense and unpredictable.

Carmilla and Laura stumbled through their front door, which they pretty much slammed close to keep more wind from blowing in. In the five minutes that it took to walk from the train station to their house, their coats were slick with the downpour and their umbrella was broken. Carmilla fussed with the locks on the door while Laura haplessly examined the umbrella.

“What a piece of crap,” she muttered. She left it to rest against their shoe cupboard and bent down to remove her boots. “I am so sick of this damn weather. I swear, it was so sunny yesterday!”

Carmilla shrugged out of her parka and ran a hand through her soaked hair. The rain—which she swore was falling sideways at one point—had evolved into hail, which began to batter their door, the sliding door to their small backyard, and the windows of their kitchen. Carmilla hung her parka up, took her boots off, and briskly moved to the living room, the furthest possible place from any glass. She took deep breaths in an attempt to hide the panic growing in her chest.

Laura, also coatless and bootless, went into the kitchen to fill their electric kettle. “I’m making tea, Carm,” she said. “Would you like some?”

“Sure,” Carmilla said quickly.

“Green or black?”

Carmilla sat on the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Black.”

A look of understanding crossed Laura’s face. She prepared their tea, walked over to Carmilla and placed the mugs on the coffee table before sitting down. She took a neatly folded fleece blanket from the edge of the couch, shook it to its full size and draped it over her and Carmilla’s shoulders.

Carmilla took the end of the blanket and draped it across her body, and Laura did the same so that their hands met in the middle. “Man,” she breathed, “who thought it was a good idea to move to this country again?” She was only half-joking. The hail fell in uneven rhythms, pieces scattered mid-flight by the wind, which whistled around their house. She shrank into herself even more. “At least in Winnipeg it’s too cold to rain in the winter.”

“And we had central heating. And double glazed windows,” Laura added, staring at the kitchen windows. And then she smiled and lightly nudged Carmilla with her elbow. “Drink your tea, then we’ll go up for a hot shower, and we’ll put on our fluffiest pyjamas and watch TV at full volume to block this weather out, okay?”

“Okay,” Carmilla said. She inched closer to Laura, so close that her left leg was just about over Laura’s right. Suddenly, a particularly large piece of hail thunked against the sliding door, startling her. She then launched herself on top of Laura, knocking them horizontal on the couch. The other woman shifted so that Carmilla’s lower half was in between her legs. Carmilla buried her face in the crook of Laura’s neck and relished in beat of Laura’s heart reverberating throughout her own body.

Laura’s hands travelled slowly along Carmilla’s back. “It’s all right, baby. It can’t hurt us,” she murmured over and over again. After a while, one hand rested on Carmilla’s lower back, while the other had its fingers absently tangled in the vampire’s hair. It was starting to calm down outside. The hail had stopped, giving way to a fine, silent mist, but the wind continued to howl periodically. “I got you, baby,” she told Carmilla.

Carmilla hummed appreciatively against Laura’s throat. “Cupcake,” she said, after a moment had passed. “About that shower…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna join me, right?” She raised her head so she could look into Laura’s eyes.

“Of course. But can we stay like this for a bit? It’s comfy.”

Nodding gratefully, Carmilla sank back into her original position. Both of them knew that nothing sexual was going to happen tonight. What Carmilla needed was Laura’s gentle touch, her soft body against Carmilla’s, their scents mingling in the steam of the shower, as they washed each other clean.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Carmilla croaked into the phone. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it into work tomorrow. I’m coming down with the flu. I think it’s this stupid weather. Yeah, I’ll let you know. Yeah, I know, lemon and honey and hot water. Thanks. See you soon… hopefully. Bye.” She jabbed at the END button on her screen and tossed the phone onto the nightstand.

New Zealand welcomed in the month of August with, surprise surprise, another storm. Lightning flashed through the curtains of their bedroom, and Carmilla regretted refusing Laura’s suggestion to buy ones that were blackout, thinking that they were too dark, too smothering. Maybe that was what she needed right now.

She pulled the duvet over her head and squeezed her eyes shut as the inevitable thunder rumbled. She shouldn’t be this weak. She shouldn’t really be this weak.

* * *

Earlier that week, Laura got on a bus heading up north, to a town called Kaitaia, where she organised focus groups to come in from around the fairly isolated northern tip of the country. She left on Monday morning and was due back Saturday afternoon.

Carmilla kissed her goodbye at the bus station, but she was genuinely happy to have some time to herself. She could blast Billie Holiday, read Foucault (in French, because she was feeling adventurous), and even indulge in a bottle of whisky straight from the bottle, a habit which Laura always discouraged. And she did all of those things, along with doing laundry (because Laura asked her to), and going to work. She even bought Chinese food a couple of nights, just out of habit.

It was sunny the day Laura left, and the day after that, but it was cold and overcast for the rest of the week. Carmilla didn’t mind; in fact, it was her favourite kind of weather. During her lunch breaks she was able to go for walks without worrying about having too much of her skin exposed to sunlight. Although she still believed that Auckland, with its shiny, wide roads and haphazard combination of pre-war buildings and soulless corporate vessels (the _buildings_ , not the _people_ who worked in them), was downright ugly in the winter, there was something charming about the continued bustle of suits and students despite the dreary vibe.

For the first time in centuries, she indulged in solitude without crossing over into loneliness. Laura would call her every night before bed, and they would count down the days until their reunion. Once they hung up, she would go hunt for something that moves, usually possums or rabbits. She was actually having fun. It surprised her.

The fun only lasted until the storm hit on Friday night.

Fortunately, she was home by then. She drowned out the sound of the heavy rain by turning on the television onto one of the cooking shows that Laura liked so much. She rolled her eyes as a bunch of prissy people yell at each other over steaming pots and pans. But then she saw what they had made, and she felt inspired. She was going to make cupcakes for Laura’s arrival the next day, she decided.

She found a recipe online and followed it meticulously. Unlike Laura, food preparation was not her forte, so she double checked each and every step to make sure that she didn’t make any mistakes. It had to be perfect.

The cupcakes turned out better than what would be expected for a first-timer. She let them cool and then began to frost them, uncharacteristically giddy at the thought of presenting them to Laura.

Her phone lit up and rang. It was Laura. She wiped her hands on a tea towel before picking it up. “Hey cupcake,” she said, grinning.

“Hey Carm,” Laura said. “Just checking in with you. How’s the weather over there?”

“Awful,” Carmilla admitted. “ _But_ I asked myself, ‘What would Laura Hollis do?’ so I decided to watch _My Kitchen Rules_ and I think at this point I really hate myself, but it’s a pretty good distraction.”

“I’m glad. I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“I’ll be okay tonight. I’ll just, I don’t know, wear something of yours to bed... you know, something along those lines,” Carmilla said, trying to sound like she hadn’t been doing it since Laura was gone. “And you’re coming back tomorrow, too. That’s the best part.”

“Uhm.” Laura paused. “About that.”

“What?”

“The storm hit here first, early morning yesterday,” Laura told her. “It passed pretty slowly, but it was intense. Lots of downed trees and powerlines and the like. We’re lucky to still have power where I’m staying, but the highway that heads south towards Auckland is closed.”

Carmilla swallowed. She didn’t read the news, and current events wasn’t an especially popular topic at work. “Until when?”

“According to Civil Defence?” Laura’s voice was small. “Until further notice.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry, Carm,” Laura said. “If you really need someone to be with you I’ll get in touch with Perry and LaF.”

The rain got louder in Carmilla’s ears. It was closing in, padding around her head, an unwanted weight. “Uhm, I’ll be fine,” she lied. It was an attempt to convince herself more than it was an attempt to convince Laura. “Just keep in touch, okay? I want to know when you get back.”

“Carm.”

“I… gotta go. Take care.” She ended the call and slammed the phone down on the table. She pushed herself up and away from the table and bounded upstairs, leaving the television running and the cupcakes on the table. She entered their bedroom, closed the door and undressed, then all but dove on the bed, pulling the covers on top of her. She hugged the pillow Laura normally used tight to her, and cursed herself for being so afraid, and so broken.

* * *

She did not leave bed the next day, but she did not get any sleep either.

Her phone was still downstairs. She heard it ring a few times. The television was still on, too.

The storm went on outside.

* * *

Sounds from a car engine approached the house midmorning on Sunday. She trained her ear to listen as the engine was killed. It was the redheads, and she knew that Laura sent them. She hadn’t gotten out of bed, except to put on underwear and one of Laura’s long-sleeved t-shirts. She hadn’t slept, or showered, or fed. She could feel herself getting weaker.

The worst of the storm had passed but the wind continued relentlessly, alternating between whistles and howls, threatening to knock the windows off their hinges.

As soon as the redheads got inside, the first thing Carmilla heard was the sound of the television being turned off. And then footsteps up the stairs, while another set shuffled purposefully in the living room and kitchen.

The bedroom door creaked open. “Carmilla, ya in here?” LaFontaine asked.

Carmilla grunted in assent.

LaFontaine stepped in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Laura sent me and Per,” they said. “She said you weren’t replying to her texts or answering her calls. I just told her now that your phone was out of juice and you probably didn’t notice.” They placed Carmilla’s phone on the nightstand. “You should probably charge that.”

Carmilla grunted again.

“Laura’s worried about you,” LaFontaine said. “I mean, that’s really stating the obvious.”

“You think?” Carmilla asked. The words came out as a rasp. She hadn’t spoken a word since her phone call with Laura.

“She told us you didn’t like storms,” LaFontaine said. “Perry and I moved here last year in the autumn, and we found our first Auckland winter was pretty bizarre too. Like, it’s not that cold, right? But like the rain and the wind and the thunder just seem so much stronger and are just so much louder, you know? So I looked it up,” they shrugged, “and yes, there is this scientific explanation for it, but I don’t wanna bore you.”

“Tell me. Please,” Carmilla said. “It might make me feel better if I can rationalise it.”

So LaFontaine told her.

At some point through the explanation, Carmilla realised her breathing began to steady itself. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the clock read 16:49. On the nightstand, next to her charging phone, was a tall glass of blood. The smell was tantalising. She reached for it and took a sip of the now-tepid liquid. She realised how hungry she was, and then proceeded to drink half the glass in one go.

Still, the only time she left bed that night was to go to the bathroom.

The lightning and thunder started up. She called her boss to inform them that she wasn’t going to be at work, then pulled under the duvet over her head. Oh, what had she become? Of all things, the darkness had turned comforting.

* * *

“Carmilla?” A voice called out from downstairs.

Carmilla’s eyes shot open. It was light outside. She heard her name called out again. Was it Laura? She sniffed the air discerningly, but instead was suffocated by the smell of her own neglected self. Feet were taking the stairs two at a time, and then there was a hand on the doorknob, and then…

“Carmilla!” Laura rushed to her side. She was in her favourite travel outfit, an oversized wool plaid shirt and old jeans, and she was there, in the flesh, standing over Carmilla, her eyes welling up with tears. “Carmilla, oh my god, what happened? Oh god, baby, I can only imagine how you’ve been feeling, I’m so -”

“Laura.” Carmilla pulled Laura on top of her. Her arms were around Laura’s neck and she hung on tight, inhaling Laura’s comforting scent, and sighing in pleasure at the familiar weight on her body. “Laura,” she repeated. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Laura said in a half-sob.

“I was,” Carmilla hesitated, “I was so scared.”

“I know. God, I was so worried.”

“I needed you. I was so scared, I couldn’t do anything.” Carmilla was crying, too. “I’m sorry I was such a baby. I just really needed you. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“Hey, don’t say that. I’m just glad that you’re all right,” Laura said. “Remember what we talked about? It’s okay to be afraid.” She sat up, so that she was straddling the vampire. She pushed some of Carmilla’s hair away from her face, then traced her cheek and jaw with her thumb. “I’m here now. I’m here. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here before. God, I’ve missed you so much,” she sniffled. “What can I do, baby? What can I do to make it better?”

Carmilla tugged on the hem of Laura’s shirt, urging her to lean forward again. She captured Laura’s lips in a kiss. She tasted Laura’s chapstick, and the saltiness of Laura’s tears, but mostly, she just tasted Laura. How much Laura loved her. How much Laura hurt because she was hurting. She could feel her undead heart swell. She broke the kiss, somewhat unwillingly, because she wanted to look at Laura. She wanted to do everything, and she couldn’t get enough.

“I made cupcakes,” she managed to say. "Cupcakes for my cupcake."

Laura laughed. She wiped the tears and snot on her face using the sleeve of her shirt. “Yeah, Perry mentioned that in the note that she left downstairs,” she said. “That _is_ quite romantic of you, Carm. I’m excited to try them later.”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “So what are we doing now?”

Laura got off her and moved to a standing position next to the bed. “Come with me.” She offered her hand for Carmilla to hold. She led her inside the bathroom, and laughed at her bewildered expression. “I’ve just been on a bus for almost four hours. I smell like diesel and potato chips. And babe, I’m sorry, but you kinda stink.”

“Yeah, I probably do,” Carmilla conceded. She watched as Laura set up the shower, then she let Laura undress her, and then she enjoyed the show as Laura removed her own clothing. They hopped into the shower together.

They took turns washing each other’s hair. Then Laura placed a dollop of shower gel on her palm, rubbed her hands together, then slowly lathered up Carmilla’s body. A combination of relief and happiness enveloped Carmilla for the first time in days.

Laura was looking at her, and her eyes were shining. Not just from tears, Carmilla knew, because they were shining exactly the way they did when Carmilla first fell for her.

Carmilla rested her head on Laura’s shoulder as the smaller woman’s hands continued to explore. How she managed to last several centuries without someone to hold her steady while the world fell apart, she didn’t know. And she didn’t care to know, because she had Laura. Nothing could explain her luck.

**Author's Note:**

> I had planned to write a hurt/comfort/fluff-type fic centered on Carmilla for a while now but I couldn't think of a fresh context or setting, until I discovered the perfect song to inspire the fic. I decided to set it in my country of New Zealand, which Laura and Carmilla would totally visit, especially if LaFontaine and Perry were living there. (LaF and Perry would move to New Zealand though, we have some weird creatures here that LaF would be interested in.)
> 
> The title, and I guess the whole feel of this story, is from Brooke Fraser's "Shadowfeet", which is one of my favourite love songs. (Technically it's a Christian song, but maybe I'm feeling a bit blasphemous today.) Anyway, listen to the song, and I hope you enjoyed this story!
> 
> NOTE: Yes, central heating and double glazed windows aren't really a thing in most New Zealand houses.


End file.
